That night he was a ravenous man. Like one hunting for prey to feed his tribe, wife and kids. So I fought and turned the bed to a wrestling stage. I had once heard that rough sex is exhilarating.
Lele, an old colleague had told me of a brutally exciting sexual adventure she had with a man whom she bore a child for. I remember her saying the night when they made their baby, Bonga ravenously pulled her jeans down with her belt still closed on. She said his brutish need to be in her was enough to make her come.
So when Wode clasped his body mightily over mine compacted with sweaty groans and moans… I decided to be a warrior too. With the stripes on my thighs, he should have known that I could fight wars. And I did. It was stolen arousal I knew, always going far but not in.
So my face sweat, with my feet buried into the ground of the sheets with my legs formed into violent V’s, held together by tension-ed knees. My teeth clenched and my arms beat over his back with my fists pushing him off and pulling him over so he would be pleased enough but not finally go in in…
Later on that day, he told me that he could not understand men who rape women.
A man’s satisfaction comes from ‘seeing a woman being pleasured,’ he said.
Surely… I thought, he must know that in my tapping twists and turns, I wanted to satisfy him. I was earnestly hoping to find pleasure in his fuzzy looking eyes.
But suddenly, I doubt this was the case, his need to share this opinion was to alert to me that a bed was for love and not aggression.
But, love? Love is so aggressively complex-I think…
How could a bed be locked in for peaceful encounters alone?
Moments of subtle jealousy, questioning, expectations, future planning and wanting more… all of these feelings are undeniably aggressive.